Flaming

I saw how the paper burned with the fire of January, the flames took those four numbers to its promise drawer. The drawer is full of some concluded goals, and some broken ones. I was speechless in front of the chimney, with the intention that the drawer never received any more broken pieces. I remember the sparks of change in the indigo sky and the stars’ tears. In what way were the minutes noticed, with a memory with each ring of the bell.

January opened its arms to me with jubilation my coat for the end of winter. We walked together paraphrasing the words of the awaited, thanking the sigh of the fourteen at the end of the calendar. We walked until it said goodbye, introducing me to February. February, dressed in pink and with a camera in its hand, helped me begin a photo album next to my heart. It portrayed me with smiles at my sides and intertwined hands. Now, my hands brush against the pictures going back to that

February disappeared stealthily and I encountered March. The wise March, who taught me to hold on to the valuable and that the valuable isn't an object, but a repeated word, a look through the trees and a retained symphony. April called to my door without warning and fell when coming in, as if it didn't know how to intertwine its path and mine. Its first gaze was icy, impassible, a pair of eyes that will never leave my mind. As fast as it had freeze me, it came to my rescue and its eyes turned blue, like the water it took me to visit and its teeth white, like the clouds I flied over. Softly, it guided me towards May, who waited for me in a rock, contemplating how the flowers were born out of the trees. In that rock we talked about love and its piece in the puzzle.

June only brushed my shoulder but it was such a strong brush that it took my breath away, making me forget where I was headed. July unwrapped me, it made me believe that we are nothing more than actions between gestures and the sun needs us as much as we need him. August tore me from July’s side and took me far, very far. However, before taking me he let me wrap the allusions and put a bow on them, it was fast, even so remarkable.

September had a hard time getting here, with its shyness traveling in its back. When it reached me, it took me to another world, to unknown gestures between the green and white. He told me quietly that its next companions would make me run and jump in this place. It wasn't lying, October trapped me with its force and planted the future in my path. It was cold, but not as much as November. Hot chocolate and new faces made themselves present in the snow of the eleventh month. Before I could grasp it, without warning, December approached and hugged me, ready to end this year having left a mark on my skin. Next to its cinnamon breath and green and red look, I write another paper while the little fire grows.

Apparent

It’s the similarities, the ones that make everything seem different. It’s the eyes, the only ones who are willing to face reality. An unequal reality, a contradicted destiny. That damned destiny who possesses intrepidity and wickedness. It’s the dreams, the ones who proclaim her deepest desires. It’s the monster of a new sunrise, the one who paints everything in pink. It’s that monster , the one who doesn't let the heart hide behind the bones. But it’s only her, the one who decides her destiny, the one who decides if the frame hangs on the wall, or is taken down and stored with delicacy, painting the wall green with her own hand.

It’s her ghosts, those that follow her down the street at eight in the afternoon, the ones that tell her she’s making a mistake. The blurry figures with distinguished expressions block the alley; they keep her facing the gloomy vine that climbs up the somber wall. Those ghosts have names, November, February, April and July… they surround her and accuse her for putting them aside, keeping them in the back of the closet with the strawberry letters. She implores them, wishing to cut the cord that doesn't let her go up and see what's on the other side of the bricks. 

A familiar hand due to misfortunes and luck sets the knife close to her, because scissors won’t be enough to rip this tie. The girl hesitates and accepts it, her heart beating with uncertainty. Every time the metal blade rips the fiber of the binding, she lets out a breath as well as a tear. Her eyes cry, not due to sadness, but because the rest of her being is finally starting to see reality with them.

On the other side of the wall, sunset waits for her, this time without remorse. He helps her pose her memories on grains of sand, the heaviest falling to the bottom, so that water can store them in the beach of her life with care.It’s the feelings, the ones that proclaim their liberty. They help the heart with scars take a step forward.

Future

I had heard about it; stories about its fierce footsteps and unwanted battles. I never truly accepted it would reach me, I expected to stay hidden in the playground forever, not caring about its whereabouts or victims. They said it doesn't understand mercy or patience; it's always carrying on its task. I never believed it.

Until, one day, it came for me.

It stormed in without warning, breaking the door down and turning the furniture upside down. It turned off the lights and kept me in the darkness. I haven't seen myself since that day. It took my blind freedom away, not letting me stay tied down anymore. It made me want to run, sprint to the woods, where someone else had the lead. It made me face my fears, but it didn't teach me how to face its constant presence. It dug its way into my mind, always having a say in my words, twisting them until I couldn't speak anymore. It made me choose. It made itself permanent in my days, and its tattoo bound in my skin. The tattoo says its name, a word made of six letters and anxious colors. "Future" is written on my arm.

Hand in hand with time

I found myself in the corner with the leaves falling around me, melting with a green that inspires hope.

I found myself with the grey sky, who´s waiting for the sunset to come so it can turn orange and dance next to the fire.

I found myself with my feet bare, confused for stepping on October.

I found myself face to face with someone who I thought I had forgotten. Autumn looks at me with uncertainty, waiting for me. He puts his hand before mine, inviting me to let the summer warmth go, to start to change. Disoriented, my hand starts to approach his, doubting if it´s ready to let a new season guide it. I hear a whisper about promises that will be kept and I let myself go.

The stranger, with the name of autumn, recites poems about change, he relates poetry about copper colored mornings. I let the poems make me different, take the cold with delight, wear scarfs hidden at the back of the closet. The verses help me remember autumn, the fairy tales that were written by its side and the beauty of waking up next to it.

Now, I find myself dancing to the beat of a new season.

October 4th

It was spontaneous, a car driven by the power of the lyrics and eyes open for the sake of coffee. The three hearts beat in unison, hoping to keep the forever of the moment hidden in the clock. They traveled, like birds after a long winter, through the blue and silver of the city. They made the drive their own; it was just them and the tangles of city being unraveled by the music.

It was impeccable, walking through the streets at midnight, letting their childhood slip through their fingers. Water made them see how the simple moments are what matter, they splashed and laughed, letting the weight of their shoulders leave them in the translucent fountain. They dreamed of climbing the city, being and the top and jumping without wings, just to feel the adrenaline pound in through their bodies. The city could never scare them.

It was compassionate. They protected her with speed and untold secrets. He took her hand to lift her spirits up, making the broken seem fixed. They dared the established, not caring before speaking. They promised to do and not think, letting time take them.

It was unique, a night to never leave their memories. The stars looked at them and felt jealous of the boys and the girl for having turned a simple autumn night into an experience so remarkable, into a night that only spoke of truthful mysteries. The three teenagers clashed, creating a friendship born in smoke, a smoke that intertwined different corners of the world coming together. The moon was the witness of an everlasting chorus.

Not so far from yesterday

31 days without him and counting. Her mind does it unconsciously, every night she adds a mark in her wall. Each mark is for one less hug she could´ve gotten, another memory that no matter how hard it tries time won´t take away.

She keeps flying, only to hit the wall that keeps her from going back to him every time the wings get bigger. That flight is a torture as well as a gift, she savors the good moments with sweetness, but can´t avoid tasting the sour flavor that the bad ones have.

And it seems it was yesterday when it rained, yesterday when they lived the goodbye that their love story was determined to tell. It was moments ago when he squeezed her hand reassuring that the ashes would never be carried by the wind, even if the flames went out.

Every step she takes carries her father from that tale, but her heart doesn´t anyone else come near it, it still belongs to him, and it has built up a wall to keep anyone from going in.

Her mornings are a lament for having to walk without reaching his arms, a moment of melancholy for watching the cars go by and not seeing his face in the window.

Hours, days and weeks will go by and maybe the bricks that protect her heart will fall down slowly, but marks will keep being added in the wall next to her bed. And who knows, maybe a smile once in a while.

Broken

Distance is relative, that's what they say, what they want to make me believe. But I know the truth. Distance is void, it's a black pit of darkness measured in kilometers when it really should be counted in heart beats.

Boom. All the faces I recognize together once again and I'm sitting alone in a solitary corner. Nobody notices it, but the wound opens.

Boom. Our song comes on the radio, the one that had all our hands in the air and our hips going crazy. I turn the volume down because I don't have anyone to dance with now. The crack gets bigger.

Boom. A picture of us hugging, that group hug in a foreign country, slips out of the album almost wanting to make the bleeding faster.

Boom. I reread old conversations we had for hours planning afternoons that ended up with us rolling on the floor laughing and wish I could be the one who got to every place early and had to wait in the cold mountain air again. My feet can't hold of me anymore so they let me fall.

Boom. I find an old pen in my bag, the one who wrote all the secrets, smirks, ideas and moments in that classroom. I throw it away as drops fall with it.

Boom. A scene of that movie we acted is on the television, I see myself in a character and I see the laughs, dances, uncoordinated melodies, hilarious costumes in the colors of the film. I scream as my middle tears in half.

Boom. I smell the aroma of our freedom, joy and friendship. Endless afternoons in the park talking about our futures. I wrap my arms around myself to try to keep the pieces from breaking any further.

It won't beat anymore, it has stopped and all I feel is emptiness. The distance has overwhelmed me and it has taken the biggest part of me; it doesn't look willing to give it back.

A jewell

I breathe in the sticky air that travels through the train. My thoughts and wonders go along with it. I see people go in and out constantly; people with different stories, minds, ages, colors, expressions on their faces that show desperation, excitement, freedom, stress, happiness, sadness... Every person who sits next to me leaves something: a word, a smile, a step.

The train reaches my stop and I get out, craving to look at what's outside, waiting to draw a map in my mind of the streets I still haven't walked on, the green lights that encourage me to go on, and the colossal buildings reflecting the sky's mood.

The first thing I see is a tree with green leaves that are on the verge of being painted brown by autumn. It's not a solitary tree; it has others keeping him company down this long avenue. These trees living in the windy city are being shielded by powerful constructions on their sides, colorful doors that are waiting to be opened, and lights that will have to wait until it's their time to shine.

I keep walking and see cameras, driven by their obsession with wanting to freeze every minute. There's something about the shape and tones of this unique city that makes me want to capture it all, remember every place where my feet have walked on and every scene my eyes want to paint with all the shades that this view offers.

A sweet smell gets to me and I can almost savor it in my mouth, the flavor of many types of foods that come from opposite corners of the world. Diversity, that's the word that comes into mind when I think about the story of this city. The story of distinct people that have somehow ended, or are just beginning, life in this never ending maze, speaking their own language and waiting for their heart to be complete.

My feet are going on by themselves, but they know where they're going even if they feel confused. They reach the river and stop. Now my heart's the one leading me, and it's filled with euphoria upon contemplating the water that flows with it's crystalline color and soothing music.

Dodging time and light I can't help but stop once in a while, in a park to look at myself in that symbol, knowing that there's a before and after through all of this; in a corner cloaked with the smell of coffee and old books that live inside a library; in a window where there's a picture of a white blanket covering every street.

Then, without realizing it, I reach the end, the lake. The lake that somehow made a hole in the planes and decided to be part of the northern setting. It gives the perfect balance to this crowded place, gifting it with peace and wholeness.

The sun tells me it's time to go and I feel pleased, knowing I'm falling little by little. Falling for Chicago.

2 a.m.

I constantly dream about opening my window and feeling the orange morning sun rise up between the translucent buildings. I dream of living on the thirteenth floor, where luck exists only for those who want to find it. I dream of city life, people rushing by with opposite destinations but sharing goals. I dream of a spark that'll up all of the sudden and take me exactly where my heart wants to go, since it hasn't told my mind yet. That spark will help me avoid all the reds and wrong turns through these streets.

I dream of people I haven't met, hands I haven't held, steps I've never danced, words I haven't written but are there, in some part of me, waiting to be spilled like a glass of water, breaking with impact, making noise and spreading out wetting all that's around.

In these dreams there's always the proper music playing, rising like adrenaline with every word, there's also time to think about the similarity that connects chances and risks where there's an opportunity that is waiting to be taken.

There's peace...

But then,

I wake up.

What if

There's no option. I'm stuck between missing you and thinking that you're still by my side. My heart is slowing breaking, piece by piece, as I remember our last goodbye. That small kiss that felt so big, because it said so much, all the words we hadn't said out loud were there, in the air and then holding themselves onto us. Another part of me falls to the ground in the shape of a memory; that train station that we knew so well, sitting on the stairs with my head on your lap trying to hold the tears in. But I couldn't.

The worst part is thinking of ifs. If I hadn't had to leave you'd still be mine. If I'd stayed like I promised we wouldn't have needed to count the days, they'd be laid like a path of stone before us. If destiny had thought different of it, summer would've told a whole different story. Now all I can do is think of your eyes staring back at me with that sadness swirling in them. Sadness and longing that'll always be present wherever I go.

Following the drops

Music in my ears, the lyrics of my favorite song now have a new meaning, more intense. While the beat grows, the waves get bigger and turn another shade of blue. A strong blue, dark, that wants to be noticed; just like the rest of this huge city. The lake without end is telling me to get ready for this new stage of my life; to start to explore bit by bit the smell of the water, the windows of the buildings that reach up to the sky, where I have to go to look at the unknown.

I dig my feet in the sand, as if it would save from what is about to come, although my mind assures me that it's going to be good. Because every end opens a new beginning, and I begin here, looking at the horizon. With this new year I'm not afraid to run under the rain that falls walking back home, a rain of opportunities, new happiness, challenges, people... This wind hits me in the face, a wind that doesn't have limit, that runs fast trying to stop me, but I keep going and I will go on with a smile on my face jumping between the puddles. Everyday of my seventeen will be unique.

Infinite

They say when you're sixteen, you have endless freedom, you fall in love like you never fell before while you bleed, you've got the world at your feet and you're flying. I don't know if that's true for everyone, but it was for me.

When you're too young to know what life is about but too old to question all that surrounds you, you've reached the point in your life when you know who you want to shape yourself into. You've developed into the greatest version of yourself and decided which road you want to take. During that road you will fall, only to find you can get back up. There are flowers on the side of the trail, each one with its unique color and scent. Friends are flowers in the garden of life and each one gives you something completely different.

Your heart expands and you can't breathe anything but love. Love for your parents, who have given you the light to see the darkness down the road and have held your broken pieces to then fix them up. Love for your best friend, that one person who knows you inside out and still loves you, that person who laughs when no one else will and who wipes your tears away, your other half. Love for the music that pumps in your veins to make you feel alive, that beat that keeps you running forward. Love for those inked words in your favorite book, that magic that helped you see different points of view. And love for that boy with brown eyes and sincere smile. The first love who you will always remember as the only one who made you feel big when you thought of yourself as small. He, who held you in his arms and made you believe in true love.

Now, one day before this revealing year ends, I look back on every moment during these 365 and know that I have lived the best year of my life. For now. A new adventure is about to start.

Station

Everything begins with a light summer breeze. An air that puts my hair on end and butterflies in my stomach. This air wraps me in memories intertwined with smiles that had your name, looks that left me without breath, simple words said between light touches.

When I feel that the breeze has wrapped me entirely, I open my eyes and I see places where memory takes me. I see an image of that bridge where time stopped, a dialogue of that movie we saw together, a reflection of the light that slipped through the streets of Venice that time we got lost leaving the world behind, a flower that I put in my hair on that walk we took at the beginning of spring.

All of the sudden, without previous warning, it starts to rain. The clouds come filled with those moments I wanted to forget, with that sad sensation of loss. The drops fall at the same time the tears flow down my face. The breeze has been replaced by a fierce wind that wraps me in cold. I put my jacket on, but the only thing that's going to stop the storm is your arms hugging me and promising that this isn't over. And I wish to see the stars, those starts we asked to be us forever.

The thunder of destiny roars reminding that he's the one who makes decisions and that rains falls for reasons; to let new flowers go and everything follow its path.

Just when I hear the wheels of the train getting close, I see that far away, in the mountain, the clouds open and the sun comes in between them. And I smile because I know that I'll always have that ray of sun. Every time I see that little piece of sun, I'll remember every "I love you" whispered at my ear, every nonsense that made me laugh, every word said with trust and, above all, that I'll see it again.

Under water

The weight in my heart's starting to get heavier, the suffocating feeling I have in my stomach is growing, and so is my fear. Fear, what a strange and particular word, it can drown you in so many different ways. This time it's drowning me in goodbyes. Goodbye to my four walls, these walls have seen me cry my lungs out, go crazy due to the smallest thing, sing lyrics that I know better than the palm of my hand; they have held pictures that show the most sincere and humble smiles, posters of stories I wish I could escape to... They are my personal box.

Still, there are worse goodbyes when you're surrounded by people who let you be and encourage you to be the best version of yourself. Those are the people worth writing about; they will be in my own safe box forever, even if they're only a memory, a letter or a glimpse of a smile. They have made me strong and shown me that weakness can be overcome.

This fear, the fear of having to let something go, will always be an open wound, something inevitable. There are always cities to leave, stories to be finished having to move on to the next chapter and planes to catch. This time I'm flying with no return, I'm leaving with an unknown future and a ticket that only goes one way.